All Hail the Queen (24 page)

Tank broke the kiss and shifted his head to the side. “Look,” he said, lifting his square chin.

Naeema glanced down at him and jumped back slightly at the sight of his hard dick tenting the blanket. “Tank,” she said, looking back at him.

“
Both
heads working just fine,” he said with a big smile.

Naeema kissed him again.

“Touch that motherfucker,” he said thickly, low in his throat.

Naeema stared down at him. “Really, Tank? At a time like this?”

He thrust his hips up off the bed a little.

She held up the blanket and slid her hand down his left thigh to wrap around the thick base of his dick. “It's hot too,” she said, feeling heat rise in her as well.

His lids came halfway down over his eyes. “Let me see.”

She held the blanket up with her free hand and made long strokes up and down the length of him finishing with deep pressure against the smooth tip. “Feel good?” she asked.

He glanced over at her and nodded. “Damn right. Let me know I'm alive in this joint, yo,” he said, his eyes back on her hand job.

The hospital door burst open. They both looked up at the redheaded nurse standing there. Her eyes widened at the scene laid out before her.

“His monitor was . . . is . . . going off. Are you going to stop?” the nurse asked, seeming completely shaken.

“Are you going to leave?” Naeema countered.

The nurse turned and left the room.

Tank chuckled. “Bonnie,” he said.

“Whaddup, Clyde?” she asked, still milking his dick.

“I fucking love your ass, Na,” he said.

“You better.”

Knock-knock.

“Damn,” Tank swore.

Naeema kissed his mouth and then moved down to suck the tip of his dick once. Deeply. “Now
that's
love,” she said, releasing him.

He laughed.

“Come in,” she called, taking a seat and crossing her legs as the doctor entered with a wary expression.

“So you're up, Mr. Cole,” he said. “And I see you're . . . excited . . . about it.”

Naeema and Tank both laughed, but as she sat back quietly while the doctor examined him she felt tears rise up.
She was happy and sad all at once. There was so much to deal with. So much shit. Naeema was too excited about Tank to let anything worry her . . . for now.

Throughout the day the silence in the room was deafening. Everything was hanging in the air. All of the shit that needed to be said—to be revealed—was looming like a dark-ass cloud.

“Give me my phone, Na,” Tank said from the edge of the bed. “I need to talk to Grip and Tina.”

“Tina?” she said with an attitude.

“She's my connection in the police department,” he explained. “I want a real update on the shooting.”

“Tank—”

“I need to talk to Fevah,” he continued.

“She fired you,” Naeema admitted.

He frowned and then shrugged one broad shoulder as he nodded. “I can understand that. She must've been scared having someone shoot at her like that.”

Naeema bit her mouth and dropped her head.

Sarge grunted.

She shot the old man the nastiest side-eye as she fought the urge to get up and slap the piss and shit out of him. “Tank, you need to relax,” she said, turning in the seat to eye her husband.

His look shifted from her to Sarge's profile and back to her.

“Enough is enough,” Tank said. “The doctors said I'm fine. They're keeping me for observation. It's
time to get back to business.”

“I—”

“Naeema,” he said, his voice hard. He took a visible deep breath. “My phone.
Please
.”

She glanced over at Sarge sitting in a chair by the window as he looked up at the game show playing on the television. He never broke his stare on the set.

“It's downstairs. I'll go get it,” she lied, rising from the chair.

Tank nodded as he looked down at the IV entry still taped against the back of his hand.

In the hallway, Naeema pulled out the phone and unlocked it. She dialed Grip.

“Yo.”

She walked down to the end of the hall to lean against the large metal frame of the window. “Grip, this is Naeema. Tank is awake—”

“Wow,” he said. “For real?”

She nodded. “Listen. He's going to call you. Lay low on the real reason behind the shooting,” she said, turning to press her back against the wall.

The line was quiet.

“Grip?”

“Tank and I go too far back for me to lie to him, Naeema,” he said. “You know that.”

“I'm not saying lie. I'm just saying not today. That's all,” she stressed. “He will leave this hospital, bust his stitches, and fuck himself up if he knows there's a chance he's the target.”

“But—”

“Just until he's released and then I promise we all will
work together to find the bum bastard who did this but he needs to be closer to a hundred percent before he even thinks about it.”

Grip went quiet again.

“You can beg his pardon later, Grip,” she said, her voice hard. “Dayum.”

She hung up on his ass. “Grip better not fuck with me,” she muttered as she scrolled through Tank's contacts and hit the
DIAL
button.

Naeema paced.

“Hello,” the voice said hesitantly.

She dropped her head so low her chin almost touched her chest. “Hi . . . Tina. This is Naeema. Tank's wife,” she said.

“Oh my God, did he die?” she gasped.

Naeema pressed her fingertip against one eye as she felt it jump in agitation. “No, no he didn't,” she said.
And why would I call you if he did?!

“How can I help you?” Tina asked, her voice cool.

Calling the woman her husband smashed during one of their many breakups wasn't easy—especially a woman whose taste she once slapped out of her mouth.

“I need your help,” Naeema admitted, her stomach in knots. “Can you—”

“
My
help?”

“Yes, Tina. Can we meet?”

“No. Matter of fact. Hell no,” Tina stressed.

Oh, she a bad bitch over the phone line?

“Listen, Tina, I have a tag I want you to run. Someone left a dent in Tank's Tahoe and a lady who saw the car gave me the info,” she lied smooth as fuck.

“Then why not give the info to the police?”

Naeema looked pensive, her eyes darting back and forth as she thought quickly. “Because she might be wrong. I don't like tying a brotha up in the system for no reason,” she said, hoping it was the right thing to say to nudge the bitch into just running the damn tag.

“What is it?” she asked reluctant as hell.

Naeema gave her the numbers and letters from memory.

“I'm at work. So hold on.”

Naeema walked to the nurses' station and held the phone down out of their line of vision. “Can I borrow a pen please?”

They all eyed her oddly. One winked and gave a thumbs-up and the redhead's lips were tight as hell with disapproval.
Snitch bitch
.

Taking the pen, she turned and walked down the hall.

“Okay I found it,” Tina said, her voice real low.

Naeema jotted down the name and address on the back of an old envelope in her purse.
Kevin Greene?

“And can we keep this between us. Tank will go bananas if he knows something happened to one of his whips,” Naeema said, with a roll of her eyes and a flip of her middle finger that she wished she could deliver to the bitch in person.

“He's awake?” Tina asked.

“Tank's gonna call you about the investigation into the shooting of Fevah, but I'm curious. How's it really going?” Naeema asked.

“The case is already getting cold because the detectives are still looking into the rapper's background for a possible motive,” Tina said. “Are
you
sure?”

“Sure about what?” Naeema said, playing mental checkers
with her ass.

“You made it seem like Tank was the intended target and not Fevah,” Tina said.

“No, no, no,” Naeema said. “It was Fevah. I was just mad at you being there and wanted to piss you off. Sorry about that.”

“Oh.”

This bitch is too naive for Tank.

Naeema walked back toward Tank's room. “Thanks, Tina. I appreciate it,” she said forcing civility into her tone. “And Tank's awake so he'll be calling you in a little bit.”

She ended the call.
Beep.

Naeema erased all recent activity on the phone before she walked back into the room. She smiled but it faded because the chair Sarge had been sitting in was now empty. “Where is he?” she asked, coming over to hand the phone to Tank.

“The caf,” Tank said.

I didn't see him leave.

“Will you help me take a shower?” he asked. “They want me to get up but I'm supposed to call the nurse for help.”

Naeema nodded.

“I knew you would,” he teased. “You don't want them to see all this.”

She smirked when he flipped his hospital gown open and flashed his dick at her. “They wouldn't know what to do with it, boo,” she said as she turned to grab a clean gown from the top drawer of the nightstand.

“No one knows what to do with it like you,” Tank admitted.

Naeema turned and placed her hands on her hips. “Just how many have tried?” she asked him, dead-ass serious.

“Never enough to top you,” he countered.

Naeema gave a sarcastic snort as she crossed the room to open the closet and pull out his shaving bag. “If your clippers in here, you want to shave too?” she asked, unzipping it.

“I need to get shot more often because in the past that would've been one helluva argument,” he quipped.

“Don't ever wish that, Tank,” she said, her eyes and her voice serious as hell.

He came over to drape one arm around her waist and pull her body close against his. She hugged him back. Tight enough to enjoy the feel of him but not too tight to possibly hurt the gunshot wounds that would permanently scar his body.

“You don't understand, yo, I thought I would never hold you again,” she whispered against his neck. “This right here feels like the realest shit ever.”

Tank pressed a kiss to her temple. “It
is
the realest shit ever.”

With his arm draped across her shoulders they made their way to the bathroom. She locked the door behind them and then went behind Tank to undo the strings tied around his neck. “I should have turned the shower on first,” she said, moving back around him to turn the knob so that steaming hot water flowed from the head and hit the tiled wall of the open shower.

Tank took a piss in the commode before he stepped into the shower and leaned his back against the wall, letting the water pelt against his legs. “That feels good,” he said.

“You should have taken off the bandages,” she warned.

Tank shrugged as he took the washcloth and bar of soap from her. “They'll change them when I'm done,” he said, wincing a little as he raised his left arm to wash the right.

“Call me when you're done,” she said, picking up the hospital gown before reaching for the doorknob.

“Stay with me.”

Her hand closed into a fist as she looked back at him.

The soapsuds clung to the contours of his body as the steam swirled around him like a lover. Being near death hadn't done a damn thing to his sexy. As Naeema stood there and watched him lather his dick she felt that bud between her legs wake up.
Just fine as hell for no fucking reason.

The steam started to fill the entire bathroom and press against her body causing the peach strapless romper she wore with gold gladiator sandals to cling to her.

He lowered his head as he massaged the length of his dick. It hardened in his hand. He cut his eyes over at her. “What you gon' do wit' it?” he asked.

Naeema breathed through her open lips as she watched him. It hadn't been
that
long since they sexed on the balcony the night of the shooting, but it seemed like a
really
long time. “Tank,” she said, her whisper mingling with the steam.

“Nah, nah. Fuck that, Na. I'm a get this nut regardless,” he said, biting the side of his tongue as his hips arched up off the wall as his stroking quickened. “You want in or not?”

Naeema stripped, double-checked that the door was locked, and draped his gown over the commode before she turned her back to him and looked back over her shoulder as she bent over to grip the seat. She shivered at the feel of the water hitting against her ass as she felt Tank turn to stand behind her. His hands held her ass and his thumbs spread the lips of her pussy as she arched her back and rose
up on the tips of her toes.

They both cried out as he slid inch after delicious inch inside her. He pressed against her walls and made his presence known. There, surrounded by steam that made it all hotter, Tank stroked them to an explosive nut that made them both taste the steam as they gasped and hollered out with the sounds of their pleasure bouncing off the sweaty walls.